


A Line In the Sand

by aries_taurus



Series: Ella!Verse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Captain Hill - Freeform, Discussion of Abortion, Ella!verse, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3418964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus/pseuds/aries_taurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's late. It hits her like a ton of bricks when she overhears Michelson bitch about her temper in the hallway across from the break room. She’s. Late. As in <i>late</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Line In the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: abortion is discussed. Not graphically, but it is clearly alluded to. Walk away if this is not for you. I'm not really spoiling anyting since this is the first part of the Ella!Verse by saying it does not happen.
> 
> This is not a fic about abortion, rather an unplanned pregnancy and how Steve and Maria deal with that. If you've been following the Ella!Verse, you know how this ends!
> 
> Thanks to Kavileighanna for the beta, reassurances, ideas, the odd paragraph fixing and general encouragement. This is her sandbox I'm playing in, after all!

\----

 

_Today, I looked for a sign_

_With flames in my hands_

_A line in the sand_

_Between yours and mine_

_Linkin Park - Line In The Sand Lyrics_

 

\----

 

She's late. It hits her like a ton of bricks when she overhears Michelson bitch about her temper in the hallway across from the break room. She’s. Late. As in _late_.  
  
"I swear, avoid her for a few days, must be that time of the month," he says to Warner, his usual partner in incompetence. Okay, she's being unfair; they're competent technically, brilliant even, but they have no clue about corporate secret keeping and despite her shadow role in the still-rebuilding SHIELD, officially, she works for SI and her job is corporate security, which entails preventing aforementioned corporate espionage.  
  
Nothing changes the facts, though. She's regular, like a clock. And she's two weeks late and no, she refuses to think about this now.  
  
She puts the information in the back of her mind and focuses on her day but it simmers there, in her brain, until it feels like she's in a sort of detached state of blind panic.  
  
She leaves the office early (for her, meaning before 8 P.M.) and stops at the nearest Walgreen’s before heading home. She's glad Steve's not there because she doesn't know how she'd approach this with him there. She needs a bit of space to deal with the problem. Oh, who is she kidding? She may not have done the test yet but she knows what it will say regardless. Damn it. She’s never late and her breast hurt and she’s tired and moody… Oh god, how did she not notice this before? She doesn’t want to think about this because the very idea is terrifying and terror is not something she ever feels, not anymore. She doesn’t fear the unknown, yet right now, she’s not sure she wants to know. It’s just that the longer she stares at the box, the more she thinks ignorance is _not_ bliss. She tears the package open.  
  
The instructions say she doesn't have to wait till morning so she pees on the stick and waits the required two minutes.  
  
There are two pink lines. Two. Not one.

 

Of course there are.  
  
She's on the pill.  
  
But there are two lines.  
  
They use condoms.  
  
But there are two freaking pink lines.  
  
They said no kids.  
  
Still two pink lines.  
  
In the end, the hysterics win out and she laughs and laughs, until she's crying, with what emotion she doesn't know. Disbelief for sure, anger and most of all, fear.  
  
"Steve Rogers and his fucking super-soldiers," she bites out when the hysteria dies down.  
  
She's pregnant.  _She's pregnant with Steve ‘Freakin- Captain America’ Roger's kid._  
  
What will she do now?

 

She sits on the couch, trying to understand what she’s feeling but there’s too much in her head and she can’t make sense of it yet.

 

There are very good reasons why they decided children were not a good idea.

 

Genetics, for one; no one knows if the serum’s effects would manifest in a child and that fact alone would make such a child an obvious target. Then, there’s the experimentation if their kid was to show signs of Steve’s serum. He’s been there, they’ve talked about it, and both of them are hell-bent against putting a child through the endless tests he’d had to endure. And if that isn’t enough, there’s the concern that Steve’s non-serum genetics could leave their child battling the same host of health issues he had.

 

And even if the child turns out to be normal, any child would be a target simply because it’s _theirs_.

 

The biggest obstacle to the whole thing though, is _her._

 

She’s not mother material. She’s a careerist, and she’s not ashamed of it. It’s a part of her, just as much as Captain America is a part of Steve and both of them agreed they’d never ask the other to change because who they are is why they love each other, first and foremost. She’d been afraid when the subject had come up; she’d feared it would be a deal breaker because Steve was raised a) Catholic and b) in a time when women were expected to marry, stay home and raise children. Luckily, it had turned out to be a non-issue, even if the look in Steve’s eyes had been a sort of sad, resigned wistfulness.

 

She doesn’t want children. They were never part of her plan. She’s never longed for it, being a mother. The desire has never lived in her and she is fine with that. Steve had understood, and he’d agreed for reasons his own.

 

Now… her mind hasn’t changed but she still finds herself pregnant with a child she doesn’t want, the child of the man she loves.

 

And yet…

 

And yet.

 

She splays her hand on her belly and looks down. Her child is in there, growing. A child she does not want. That she… will get rid of. Kill.

 

She didn’t want to have to make this choice. She wasn’t supposed to get pregnant at all. She isn’t supposed to have to even think about this and she hates it, hates this moment and all the mess of emotions that are swirling through her.

 

But she’s here, in this situation and she has to choose. Everything feels wrong, off kilter. It hurts deep in her heart and she wants to hide from that pain.

 

She suddenly understands Kimmi Ryan a lot better; for Maria, the choice had been obvious when Kimmi had come to her in tears two weeks before the junior prom, pregnant with Jimmy Basten’s kid, asking her what to do. While she and Kimmi weren’t friends - she didn’t have friends then - Kimmi trusted Maria to be honest, to know the right thing to do and how to get it done. To Maria, the choice had been obvious but she’s learned since then that choices always appear easier when you’re making them for other people. It’s not so easy when it’s for your own self and you’re the one having to live with the consequences.

 

She isn’t sixteen, however. She _is_ pregnant, with a child she doesn’t _want_ , wasn’t supposed to even conceive. Wasn’t supposed to be _able_ to conceive.

 

She wants to blame Steve. She can’t. They used protection and it still happened.

 

She still wants to blame him.

 

The sun rises and she still hasn’t moved from her spot, frozen still inside her own head; she still doesn’t know how to feel, how to deal with the jumbling mess of emotions, what to do.

 

She hears the key in the lock and the footsteps in the door, the drop of a duffle on the floor.

 

Her body turns to ice and she suddenly can’t breathe.

 

Steve’s home.

 

\--

 

He lets his bag drop on the floor and his chin to his chest with a deep exhale. He’s tired. The extraction had been messy and the flight back to New York bumpy and rough with turbulence. The bruises are healing but the ache in his body is still present. He’s starving, too.

 

He wants food, shower, and sleep, in that order so he heads straight for the kitchen. It’s coming up on five-thirty and Maria will be up soon so he starts the coffee maker. That’s when he spots her, sitting in the dark, huddled in the corner of the sofa, her reflection perfectly cear in the glass cabinet where the mugs are. She’s not asleep and the fact she didn’t greet him or move sends up flags of alarm in his brain. Something’s wrong.

 

He abandons the coffee and he’s on his knees in front of her in a second.

 

“Maria? What’s wrong?”

 

“Go take a shower. I’ll make you breakfast,” she says, not looking at him. She unfolds herself from the corner and stands, carefully avoiding contact with him.

 

Oh, this is not good. “Hey, hey, wait. Tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” she says, pushing past him and heading for the kitchen, never meeting his eyes.

 

It’s then he hears it; the hoarseness in her voice she only gets when she cries. He can’t let that go so he stands swiftly and cuts off the way to the kitchen. She runs into his chest and when her eyes meet his, he’s shocked at the anger he sees in there but she sees it melt just as fast, morphing into concern. She raises a hand to his face and she wipes her thumb on his left eyebrow. He watches as she lowers her hand and shows him the blood.

 

“You hurt, solider?”

 

“Bruises. I’m fine. You’re not, so don’t change the subject. I know there are things you can’t tell me but you don’t cry over office secrets, Maria.” She’d said she didn’t _want_ to talk about it, not that she couldn’t.

 

She keeps her gaze on his and he watches her visibly deflate and she nods. “Okay. Go take a shower. I’ll make breakfast and we’ll talk.”

 

“All right,” he concedes, knowing pushing will get him nowhere. He heads to the bathroom and into the shower. He lets the water cascade over his shoulders, hands splayed on the tile in front of him. It’s been a while since he’s seen this Maria; the closed off, almost cold woman she projects to the ones who don’t know her. Everything in it screams of a deep hurt and for the life of him he can’t figure out what it could be. Nothing had been brought up after debrief and she hadn’t called or texted him.

 

Whatever it is, he’ll get to the bottom of it. He shuts the water off and opens the stall door, snagging a towel as he steps on the plush bathmat, feeling all the aches and fatigue of the mission. People think he doesn’t get tired because he recuperates so fast but he feels it, nonetheless. Four days with no sleep is pushing it, even for him.

 

He’s rubbing his hair dry when something catches his eye. There’s a bright pink box in the trash bin by the counter.

 

Curious, he quickly finishes drying off and wraps the towel around his hips before retrieving the box.

 

He has to blink and read the label twice.

 

 _Pregnancy test_?

 

He drops the box in the sink and rests his hands on either side of the basin, staring at the bright cardboard. He suddenly realises that it’s open and empty. Used.

 

Sure enough, he finds the plastic stick in the trash too, and there are two neat pink lines in the window. The crumpled instruction leaflet confirms what he’s already figured out.

 

Maria’s pregnant.

 

 _Pregnant_. With _his. Child._

 

Before he even has time to think, he’s flooded with an indescribable feeling of joy, elation, pure and simple. A baby. His. _Theirs._ The plastic slips from his numb fingers and clatters to the floor.

  
Wait. What? Pregnant? Wow. Whoa.

 

The pendulum swings and reality is quick to come back and he remembers all the reasons why they decided not to do this. Elation and joy turn to absolute fear as fast as he can blink. He has to exhale and he’s actually lightheaded. He sucks in a deep breath and swallows, heart thrashing against his sternum.

 

He makes himself breathe slowly in and out. Now, he understands Maria’s demeanor and he shares her fears. Still, he’s never been a coward so he’ll go and face this with her because there’s no doubt in his mind that she needs him and he will be there. That’s what marriage is all about, he thinks; facing challenges alongside the person you love.

 

He picks up the dropped stick and heads to the bedroom to dress. Once he’s slipped into a T-shirt and boxers, he goes out to the kitchen, the plastic stick with two pink lines still clutched in his hand.

 

He sits at the table as she puts eggs, ham and toast on a plate for him. He waits till she places two mugs of coffee on the table and sits down before he lifts his hand and places the stick in the middle of the table between them.

 

He doesn’t say a word, lets her approach this. He knows her. He knows pushing is the last thing he needs to do, even if this is his fault. Super soldiers, he thinks sardonically.

 

However, what she says is nothing he’d ever expect.

 

“It’s yours.”

 

He frowns, uncomprehending. “Of course it is. Why would…” he pauses, and a sudden flash of anger burns bright in his heart. “Maria. Is that what you think I’m thinking? That you cheated on me?”

 

“It’s a fair assumption.”

 

“One I didn’t make!” he snaps, her stone cold tone stoking his anger. “You’re my _wife_ , Maria. I trust you! Don’t make this about something it isn’t,” he growls. This isn’t going the way he wants it to, at all. He doesn’t want to fight with her but this is Maria with all her defences up and one of her best defence is going on the offensive. “Don’t do this. Don’t pick a fight with me. We’re in this together. I’m your husband and this is something that affects us both.”

 

“Both? Both?” she snaps. “No. It affects _me_. I’m the one pregnant, something you know I didn’t want!”

 

“Neither of us wanted this and we tried our best to avoid it but it happened anyway. Look, I understand this… feels like it affects you more than me, but that’s not tru-

 

“Tell me how this affects you, exactly? I’m the one that has to fix this now!”

 

She’s yelling, shouting at him, something she doesn’t do. They don’t yell at each other. Their fights are measured and like a quiet storm but Maria is tearing into him, her voice raised enough for the neighbours to hear, he’s sure and Maria is the paramount of discretion. This isn’t her. It’s then he understands the depth of her dread; she’s completely terrified. She sounds like she’s blaming him but he knows she’s smarter than that. Both of them failed, somehow, to stop this from happening.

 

“Maria, pleas-“

 

Again, she doesn’t let him speak. She steamrolls right over him and stands, heading for the door. “We both agreed we didn’t want children. The fact I got pregnant despite the precautions we took doesn’t change that. So I’ll take care of it.”

 

“Take ca… Maria, please… why are you shutting me out? This isn’t something you need to face alone. I’m here and I’m in this as much as you are. I’ll stand by you whatever you decide but you have to talk to me!”

 

“I don’t need you. You’ve done enough,” she says icily and walks away. “I have to go to work.”

 

The door slams and he’s left alone, the sudden silence deafening in the wake of her words.

 

The sting in his heart is sharp and painful, like a slap in the face, so he lets her go, too wounded and angry to chase after her. After all this time, after all the work they’ve put into this relationship, after _getting married_ … does she not know he’s there for her, no matter what happens, especially this? She doesn’t have to go through this alone yet she chooses to and he doesn’t understand why.

 

Especially this.

 

One thing is for sure, he won’t _let_ her.

 

\--

She leans against the door for a long moment, willing her heart to stop beating wildly in her chest. She bites her lip and just breathes, until she stops shaking. She can do this. She _has to_.

 

She pushes off the door and heads for work. She has things she needs to take care of.

 

Henry greets her with his usual affable hello and she nods in response. “Hold my calls and cancel my meetings. I’m not in today, for anyone, including Tony Stark.”

 

“Right. Of course. Shall I order flak jackets or book you a few hours at the range, Mrs Hill?”

 

 _Mrs Hill_. Somehow, the title rubs her wrong today but that’s not Henry’s fault. She wants to give him a withering look but she can tell it fails because the only thing Henry does is look at her, cocking his head.

 

“Everything all right?” he asks.

 

She doesn’t have an answer to that. “Just make sure I’m not disturbed,” she says and locks herself into her office. She sits in front of her computer and boots up her secure navigation program, hoping the software is as untraceable as Tony says it is, knowing all the same her boss has certainly put a backdoor into it.

 

Still she types in her search.

 

She refuses to think about Steve, about what she said.

 

Her hands drop off the keyboard and into her lap and stares at them.

 

_‘I don’t need you.’_

 

The words echo in her head, with the utter look of hurt in Steve’s eyes.

 

Had she really said that? What troubles her most is, at the moment the words left her mouth, she’d meant them and now she’s left with the guilt over that on top of everything else.

 

She knows why she said it. Some part of her still feels vulnerable and the fact Steve did something to her she didn’t want brings back some very unpleasant memories. Rationally, she knows Steve didn’t _do_ anything to her, certainly nothing she didn’t want or anything wrong. It’s not about being forced. Steve didn’t make her pregnant on purpose. She knows it’s an unfortunate accident but the way it makes her feel is so uncomfortably, familiarly painful she couldn’t help but react.

 

It’s like her control has been taken away and whenever it is, she tends to react and react badly. Only this time, she treated Steve like the bad guy and a convenient target.

  
She hears a commotion in Henry’s office and she doesn’t have time to get up before her door is shoved open and Steve barges in, Henry on his heels, an angry scowl on his face.

 

“Capta-

 

“It’s okay, Henry,” she says calmly. Henry has never seen Steve pissed off and she has to admire the suicidal bravery of wanting to protect her from Captain America.

 

Henry retreats and Steve slams the door shut behind him.

 

“Steve-“

 

“No. No,” he says forcefully. “My turn to talk.”

 

“Steve, not here, please.” She’s pleading. Begging. Not here. _Not here._

 

She watches him, suck in a breath through flared nostrils, posture rigid and eyes hard.

 

“Fine. But one thing, Maria. I’m your _husband_. I am _here_ and I will _stay_ and _be there_ for anything and everything, including _this._ I respect you, I trust you and I love you. I will _not_ let you push me away. We will face this together. I’m not letting you do this alone, no matter what,” he says, his tone low and hard and fierce, so _him_.

 

It’s one of the many reasons she loves him. She can’t bear to look at him, not yet.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Maria,” he says and she feels his arms around her. He holds her tight and she buries her nose in his shirt, breathing in deep. After a few seconds, she looks up and she doesn’t know if it’s the sleepless night or the hormones that are coursing through her veins, but her eyes are filling with tears.

 

“Hey, none of that,” he says gently. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

She takes a breath and pushes the emotions aside and looks at him. He looks as tired as she feels. “I know,” she says. “I need to get back to work and you need some sleep. We’ll talk tonight?”

 

“I know you didn’t sleep either,” he says, but he knows better than to suggest she come home too. “Don’t work too late, okay? I’ll cook dinner.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I love you, Maria.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

She feels cold when he leaves but the fact he did leave and let her do whatever she wants makes her feel more solid, more in control.

 

Henry knocks on the door quietly and she asks him in.

 

“I have bourbon in my desk, if you want,” he says.

 

It’s not even nine yet and Henry’s offering bourbon. Bless him, she thinks. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had a drink this early and in intelligence work, clocks serve only to mark the passage of time in fixed increments. The time it is rarely matters. Still, she asks for coffee instead. She doesn’t notice how her hand slips to her lower belly when she does, doesn’t register the whispers in the back of her mind.

 

_Alcohol is bad for babies._

_\--_

She’s in the shower and he sits alone on the sofa, a beer warming in his hand. His heart feels heavy, leaden. The clock hand slips onto the ten and he closes his eyes.

 

The tiredness he feels in his bones, deep and just as heavy, isn’t physical. It feels like grief.

 

They’d eaten dinner in silence. He’d cooked one of her favourites; spaghetti puttanesca. He’d managed to sleep a few hours in the late morning before going out for groceries, keeping himself busy with cleaning and cooking until she came home. The busywork had given him a chance to think, to sort out his own feelings and to decide how to approach this.

 

He’d known there was only one way; he had to give Maria his support, but he also had to let her decide. He’d known she didn’t have to keep the child if she didn’t want to. He’s seen enough rape victims in war torn villages to know that sometimes, not keeping a child is… acceptable, the right decision, even.

 

He only wishes Maria didn’t have to make the choice because he very well knows it will come at a price, one they’ll both have to pay.

 

So they’d eaten quietly, the wine on the table untouched. When the plates were put away and the coffee brewing, she told him she wouldn’t keep the child and he’d agreed.

 

She’d been surprised.

 

He simply told her he understood how she felt; trapped, her choice taken away. He’d even apologised for taking a choice away from her.

 

She’d set him straight, of course, telling him they were both equally to blame.

 

He’d also told her he would support her, whatever her choice. He’d been okay with the decision not to have children but if she wanted to have the child, he’d be there.

 

Maria had only shaken her head, stating her history, her career, all of the reasons why they’d decided against parenthood.

 

He supports her decision.

 

Only now, sitting alone in the dark, all he can think about is the boy or girl he’ll never see growing. Part of him wishes he’d gotten to see his child, to raise it but he knows that’s the selfish part. Any child born to him and Maria would be in so much danger it’s almost unconceivable but he can’t help but wonder… A blond with dark eyes? A blue-eyed, raven haired one or even one just like him, or just like her?

 

“Hey.”

 

He startles a bit. “Hey.”

 

“You okay?”

 

He inhales deeply and thinks before replying. “Not really. About like you, I imagine.”

 

“This isn’t… easy,” she says, sitting beside him. He instinctively lifts her arm and she burrows into his side.

 

“No. it’s not.”

 

“I-

 

“Maria. Stop. It’s okay.”

 

“I don’t want you to feel-“

 

“Maria, don’t. We already discussed this. I’m okay with your decision and I _will_ be okay with whatever you decide and I will support you. You didn’t choose to get pregnant. I took that choice away from you. I’ll be damned if I do it again.”

  
“We discussed that too.”

 

He sighs. “Yeah.”

 

“We’re running in circles,” she said. “We both need to clear our heads. I’ve got some time booked on the range.”

 

“Henry?”

 

“Yeah. I think you scared him. He’s never seen you mad at me before. So, why don’t you go out, run, ride your bike…”

 

“Yeah. Yeah. I… yeah.”

 

“I’m sorry this happened,” she says, hands wrapped into the lapels of his leather jacket as he heads out the door.

 

“I’m sorry too,” he answers, wrapping his arms around her. “You are independent and strong and those are reasons why I love you. For the record, not respecting your choice would mean not respecting you, so I am. We’ll deal with the fallout and move on. We’ll get through this. I love you, no matter what. Are we clear?”

 

“We are. I love you too.”

 

They part in the hall and he goes out the front and to his bike. He rides around the mostly deserted streets and eventually heads into Manhattan and to the Tower. He wants a drink and tonight, he doesn’t want to face all of Captain American’s fans, paparazzi and other human nuisances. He loves people in general, but sometimes he needs space.

 

The slap on his back startles him more than it should but he knows instantly who it is. It’s not exactly a comfort. He’d chosen the tower’s private club because it’s exactly that; private. He should have known better.

 

“Hey Capsicle. Why the long face?” Tony greets, taking the stool beside him.

 

“I’m not in the mood, Tony.”

 

“Wow. Who peed in your Cheerios’ today? Might it be my corporate security manager, Mrs Captain America?”

 

Steve inhales and stares into his scotch, mouth shut.

 

“Oh boy. I know _that_ look. You’re in the doghouse. Big time. What did you do, get her pregnant?”

 

He looks up sharply and he sees the moment Tony sees it, the moment he understand his jab hit right on target.

 

“Oh. Oh. Wow. Okay, come on. We’re not having this conversation here. This requires more booze and less indiscrete ears. I said come on, Cap. You still know how to follow orders, dontcha?”

 

Steve rubs his face, hard. He doesn’t want to know how Tony found him, why he knew something was up with Maria and least of all, he doesn’t want to follow but somehow, he finds himself in the living room of Tony’s penthouse.

 

There’s a glass of what he knows is really, really good, very expensive Scotch in his hand before he registers what’s happening .

 

“Seriously, just so we’re clear; Maria’s pregnant?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I thought you two decided not to have kids. Genetics and possible kidnappings and experimentation and all that.”

 

“We did.”

 

“So, how’d this happen?”

 

“I don’t know, Tony,” he says wearily. Why is he here, talking to Tony Stark of all people?

 

“You need to use protection, Cap. Didn’t they have rubbers in the forties?”

Steve growls and gives Tony a withering glare. “We used condoms. And the pill.”

 

“And she still got pregnant,” he says and Steve just _hates_ the wonder in his voice. “Sup-“

 

“Don’t. Don’t make a crack about super soldiers,” Steve cuts in. Why the hell is he here, again? He drains the liquor in his glass and truly wishes he could feel its effects.

 

“Okay, I won’t. I do have to ask though.

 

“Ask. What.”

 

“Is it yours? He ghmph-- Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy big guy. Just a question!” Tony squeaks. “Right. Wrong question, forget I said anything.”

 

He’d moved even before realising it, and he has to make himself let Tony’s shirt collar go, unclenching the fist that had stopped millimeters from the billionaire’s face. Tony drops back into the sofa when Steve lets him go and he turns his back, pacing.

 

“How the hell did this happen? Serum aside…” He blurts it out before wanting to, but if anyone can give him answers, he figures the genius can.

 

“I’m pretty sure it’s math.”

 

Steve stops his pacing and turns to Tony with a frown, lost. “Math?”

 

“JARVIS, how many condoms fail, on average?” Stark asks, getting to his feet and walking back to the shelf where the decanters are resting.

 

“According to the Center for Disease Control, typical use failure rate is 18%”

 

“And the pill?”

 

“Average failure rate for most oral contraceptive methods is 9%.”

 

“And the probability of both failing at the same time?”

 

“I don’t want to know,” Steve cuts in, sitting back down and burying his head in his hands.

 

“Don’t feel bad, Cap. You just fell victim to statistics. Like winning the lottery. You seriously never noticed the condom broke?”

 

He inhales deeply and shakes his head widely, more in denial of the whole situation than Tony’s words. “Oh, lord this is one of the days I really wish I could get drunk.”

 

“What’s the plan now?” Tony asks, his tone gentle. He forgets the man can be uncannily kind and very, very perceptive.

 

“Nothing’s changed.”

 

“So, she’s not keeping it.”

 

“No.”

 

“You okay with that?”

 

He has to swallow hard and even then, he can’t speak. The tightness in his throat and the wetness in his eyes is… surprising. “Doesn’t matter. It’s her choice and I support her.”

 

“But-

 

“Tony,” he says warningly.

 

“Okay. Let’s work on getting you drunk, then.”

 

\--

 

The knock on the door snaps her awake in a second. She glances at the clock as she pulls on a robe and her gun from the side table. It’s just past four A.M.

 

She makes her way to the door and calls out as the knock comes again.

 

“Who is it?”

 

Two voices answer at the same time all over each other but she can’t be hearing right.

 

“Open the door, Hill, your husband’s getting heavy!”

 

“Honey, I’m hooome!”

 

She unlocks the door and pulls it open and she can only gape.

 

Steve is hanging off of Tony’s shoulder, not quite standing on his feet, a goofy, sloppy grin on his face. She turns to Stark, disbelief and pure shock twisting her features.

 

“Is he… is he _drunk_?” she asks, getting under Steve’s other arm.

 

“Yeah,” Tony says, as they drag Steve inside. “Let’s put him on the bed, please? I don’t want to have to lift him again.”

 

“How the hell did you get him drunk?” she questions as the deposit Steve on the bed. Before Tony can respond, Steve nuzzles her neck as she leans down to get his leather jacket off him.

 

“You’re beautil… b..beautiluf … b..beautiful, Maria,” Steve mumbles as she drags the jacket off his shoulders.

 

“Thank you. Now go to sleep, solider,” she says quietly, shaking her head.

 

“Y’ss Ma’aam.”

 

“Ooh, orders in the bedroom!”

 

The glare she levels on Tony is contemptuous and disdainful to say the least.

 

“I’ll uh… get out of your hair.”

 

“Make yourself useful and make some coffee” she orders. “Filters are in the second cupboard from the left.”

 

Steve is halfway cooperative, halfway asleep, mostly drunk and limp as she gets him out of his clothes. He keeps smiling and giving her smoldering looks and maybe Tony getting him drunk isn’t all bad and it’s something they’ll may

be revisit once this thing is over. She puts him to bed and he’s quick to fall asleep. She gives him a fond look as she closes the bedroom door. She does wish the reason behind this wasn’t… _her._

 

Tony’s in the living room sipping coffee and she remembers her anger. She bites her lower lip, goes to the coffee maker, pours herself a cup and goes to lean on the mantle, right in front of Stark.

 

“I’m not even going to ask how Steve ended up with you. What I want to know is how you managed to get him drunk, and more importantly, how he’s going to feel in the morning, let alone _why_ you got him drunk.”

 

“The how is fairly scientific and has to do with metabolic rates, concentration and rate of consumption. It’s really quite fascinating but way above your pay grade, Hill. I’m still your boss, by the way. And you know why.”

 

The flash of anger that sears through her is murderous. The world’s biggest playboy doesn’t get to judge her or her life or her relationship with Steve.

 

“This is my home. You’re just a shmuck in here, as far as I’m concerned,” she growls. “Our life is _none of your business_. Answer the damn question. Will he be all right?”

 

“You think I’m stupid? Of course he’ll be all right. His metabolism will have burned through my special brew within the next two hours and I doubt he’ll even be hung over. As for the reason… You know Cap. He’s being noble no matter how much it’s tearing him up inside.”

 

“How dare you judge me?” she hisses. “How fucking dare you! You _know_ why we can’t… This. Is NONE of YOUR BUSINESS.” She’s livid. She can’t even put words on the depth of her fury.

 

“It’s my business when two of the people I consider friends are suffering, Maria. Oh, relax, get off your high horse. I’m not here to judge. I’m here to help,” he says calmly, giving her a pointed look. He pulls a business card from his shirt pocket and hands it to her.

 

She takes it, eyeing him doubtfully. There’s only a name and a phone number on it.

 

“Dr Jonathan Evans. He’s extremely competent and extremely discrete. He’s had my trust for fifteen years and god knows he’s seen it all. You know my reputation and most of it is true. Just call him and tell him you got his name from me. He’ll help you with whatever you need.”

 

She’s speechless. She never can get a firm read on Tony Stark; can’t make up her mind if he’s an ass, an idiot or a good guy because he works so _hard_ at being a jerk it’s not even funny. She’s known him for years and she still can’t quite peg him. Steve’s friendship with him is one thing that baffles her completely but doesn’t question. She remembers how it started and she can’t help but wonder at the change. Still, in the back of her mind, she wonders if this isn’t some sort of damage control for SI’s image, only Tony couldn’t care less about that.

 

“Just say thanks, and take care of that husband of yours, and yourself.”

 

“I will.”

 

“You know how guilty he feels?”

 

She nods. She does. She feels just as guilty but there are some chances she’s just not willing to take. She’s doing the right thing. She’s protecting a child from a life of misery by preventing it. It’s the only way. She just can’t say it, not out loud, especially not to Tony Stark.

 

“And yet, he supports you fully and completely. He really makes the rest of us look bad, being so perfect. It’s sickening, really.”

 

“Right.”

 

“You’re a lucky woman, Hill, to have him love you like that. And you make him happy. I always had my doubts about marriage but you two? You almost make a believer out of me.”

  
“And how long have you and Pepper been married, again?”

 

Tony stands and places his cup on the coffee table. “I’ll let Henry know you’re out on company business for a few days. Let me know when you’re ready to come back. Night, Hill.”

 

“Good night, Tony.” She doesn’t bother mentioning the sun coming up, making this technically morning.

 

“Oh, one more thing. Don’t let this be a line in the sand between you two,” Tony says, tapping on his chest where the arc reactor used to be. “I let the suits become one, and I almost lost Pepper. Don’t make the same mistake.” The door closes softly behind him and she stands there in the empty room, asking herself when Tony Stark became so insightful and human.

 

She thinks about that line Tony mentioned and hopes she didn’t draw one she can’t erase.

\---

 

Awareness comes slowly and with it hazy memories of Tony, drinking, and Maria. He knows he’s home in their bed because she’s burrowed against his back and he can smell her scent in the covers. He swallows, his mouth thick and gummy, the warm late morning sun shining in his face.

 

“Morning, soldier,” Maria murmurs behind him.

 

“Morning,” he grumbles, throat dry, and stretches.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

He laughs. “Fine. I’m not hung over if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

“I can’t believe he got you drunk.”

 

‘It took my mind off things,’ is what he wants to say. “I should have known better than to present Tony Stark with a challenge,” is what he does. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. We all need to escape sometimes and it’s harder to do for you.”

 

He chuckles, not really surprised. Maria is perceptive and has an uncanny way of knowing what’s in his head. The thing is, he gets her too. That’s why they work. That’s why they’ll get past this. “I’m used to it.”

 

“Used to it doesn’t make it easy.”

 

“Right.”

 

Silence falls at they both lay there, staring at the ceiling until it occurs to him that she shouldn’t be here.

 

“You’re not going to work today?” He phrases it as a question.

 

“I have a doctor’s appointment in a couple of hours and my boss gave me the week off.”

 

He raises his head to look at her. “Since when do you take vacations, even when the boss says so?”

 

She doesn’t reply and he waits her out, knows she’s mulling something over in her head when she gets quiet like this. When she’s like this, the image that comes to his mind is this bird of prey he saw in France, by a lake in the Alps; a black kite. He smiles inwardly at the visual because it just fits her so well; a small, dark raptor that sees everything but who’s incredibly deadly and surprisingly, mates for life. He doesn’t know why he remembers the bird so vividly, why he recalls sketching a pair hunting by their camp when he was on watch at dawn or why Maria inevitably brings the image to his mind so vividly. Maybe it’s because she’s exactly like that elegant, lethal, strong predator.

 

It takes a few minutes but the waiting pays off.

 

“Tony… gave me a card. A doctor.”

 

His stomach clenches but he quashes the disappointment that wants to bloom. It’s her choice, the only one she can make, the one they agreed to. His heart doesn’t seem to care but at the moment, his pain isn’t what Maria needs.

 

“When are you going to see him?” he asks. She wouldn’t bring it up if she didn’t already have a plan.

 

“In a couple of hours.”

 

He checks the clock on the nightstand. “Okay. I’ll get breakfast ready while you shower. If we leave by-“

 

“I’m going alone.”

 

He lifts up his head and pushes himself up on his elbows, peering at her, head cocked. He blinks slowly. “Maria-“

 

“I’m not shutting you out. I’m not. I just… Look, I know how hard this is for you too and… This is something I need to do by myself.”

 

He draws in a deep breath and releases it slowly, half relieved, half disappointed; what is about to happen is… it grates on his heart, scrapes on his values and bites at his soul but it’s not the first time reality clashes with his morals. He’s Catholic, he believes in God, but he’s been to war; he’s killed a lot of men, a lot of them simple soldiers just following orders. He told Fury he’d done some nasty things that made him not sleep so well but this is different.

 

He’s known for a long time that life isn’t fair but some days just make it resonate deeply and today is one of those days.

 

“Okay,” he murmurs, holding her tight and close. He wants to say she can change her mind, again, he wants to tell her he wants to be there, repeat all the things they’ve already said. There are no words left to say, so he holds his piece.

 

-+-+

 

It’s late when she comes back. She knows he’s probably been worried sick but she needed the space.

 

He doesn’t speak, just strides over to her and engulfs her in his arms, one hand cupping the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair.

 

“I’m okay.”

 

“Is it done?” he asks quietly.

 

“Not yet. It’s… early, so… I just… need to take some pills. I uh, can’t be alone once it starts, in case there’s hemorrhage.”

 

“Okay. I’m here, not going anywhere.”

 

“I…” She can’t finish, tears welling in her eyes and her throat clogging up.

 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into her hair. She hears the hitch in his voice and she feels ten times worse.

 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles against his chest.

 

“No, no. No. Don’t. Don’t be sorry Maria, please,” he begs. He never begs. Oh, how she wishes neither of them had to be here and now, in this mess that’s tearing both their hearts and souls apart. Still, he’s solid, warm and _there_ and her independence be damned, she needs him. She clings to him, tight and shaking. It’s the only way.

 

She’s not supposed to be a mother.

 

She can’t bring a child into the world, not with all the risks.

 

It’s the right thing to do. She knows it, but how come it feels so wrong?

 

They stay like this, locked into each other’s arms, for a long, long time, unwilling to let each other go.

 

There’s no point in putting it off any longer. She slowly releases him and steps back and he lets her go.

 

“Can you put a movie on? I’um…. Go change and…”

 

“Okay.” His voice is brittle, his deep blue eyes damp but his gaze and his posture are strong, calm. “I’ll be here.”

 

She can do this.

 

She goes into the bedroom, changes into sweats and a loose t-shirt. She shivers, cold despite the warmth of the room. She grabs one of Steve’s hoodies and slips into it, pulling it tight around herself.

 

The small pharmacy bag is waiting for her on the bathroom counter, where she left it on her way to change. She stays in the door, staring at it, heart pounding. All she can think about is her father; the pounding of his fists on her flesh, the hatred in his eyes.

 

_A mother protects her child._

 

She’s not a mother. She never will be. She _can’t_ be. She’s just a screwed up, broken and beaten, scared and pathetic little girl. She doesn’t deserve a child.

 

She opens the bag, takes the two vials out, selects the first one and places it on the edge of the sink.

 

_A mother protects her child._

_A mother protects her child._

 

She’s a mother. She is. There is a child growing inside of her. Hers and Steve’s

 

She doesn’t know how to be a mother. She doesn’t _want_ to be a mother. She’d only hurt a child. All she knows about parenting is pain and her father-

 

She stops herself with a hard mental shove. No. She isn’t her father.

 

She’s nothing like him. _Nothing_.

 

In that moment, everything shifts. She. Is. A Mother. The thought resonates in her head like a call to arms. It calls to her, soul deep.

 

The vials are flushed down the toilet in seconds and her hands cradle her belly protectively, tears flooding down her face.

 

“I’m sorry peanut, I’m sorry. I should have never even thought about hurting you. You’re just an innocent little thing, just like I was and none of this is your fault and… You’re my child and I will protect you. No one will ever harm you or hurt you, and I _promise you_ , I will never, ever hurt you. You’re my baby and I love you,” she whispers. “God, I love you already,” she says, full of wonder because it’s true. She’s scared, terrified, but she can’t do anything else, other than protect this tiny life inside her.

 

She walks out of the bathroom and into the living room, tears still spilling over her cheeks.

 

She looks at him, her husband, _Steve_ , as he fiddles with the entertainment system and her heart swells and sways with joy and fear and uncertainty and she’s so glad he’s here and that she doesn’t have to do this alone.

 

He turns suddenly as if sensing her eyes on him and he stands, going suddenly still, face painted in an expression of utter helplessness. It lasts only a moment before he shakes himself and heads straight for her.

 

She shakes her head, stopping him dead, his helpless look morphing into confusion and hurt.

 

“Maria?”

 

“I… I couldn’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t... I don't want to hurt my child. She's an accident, none of us asked for this but I can’t kill her. I'm her mother. Mothers protect their children."

 

His mouth opens as if he means to speak but no sounds leave his lips.

 

“I’m keeping her.”

 

“You-“ he gapes and his jaw falls open, shakes his head and his eyes widen in a combination she’s never seen him pull and she can’t help but to chuckle at the shocked expression and mix of emotions on his face. He’s pleased, she can tell. So pleased and happy and overwhelmed too. That’s great but she can’t put aside the fact she has no clue what she’s doing and all their fears and reasons for not doing this are still there. It takes the smile off her face but she’s made her decision and she isn’t’ going to let fear dictate how she lives and loves.

 

“You better figure out how to be a father because I’m not exactly mother material, so I’ll need all the help I can get,” she says seriously. “You better step up, soldier.”

 

He takes the last step between them and engulfs her in a tight embrace. "I love you. I love both of you. I’m not going anywhere."

 

"Good because now you get to experience the hormonal side of me and you better know what you’re doing because I have no clue and I'll screw her up and..." He releases her and lifts her chin, his gaze pinning her in place. He has this serious, determined expression on his face, the one he gets when he’s on a mission.

 

"You are a good person and you will make a wonderful mother, Maria. You will protect our child and raise her and teach her like a lioness does her cubs. I don’t doubt that for a moment. And I’ll be right there beside you. We’ll face whatever comes together. And I can take anything you dish out, Hill. I’ve already managed to tame you once, I can do it again.”

 

She laughs. “Tame me?”

 

“Closest thing I can think of. I’m… still reeling I think.”

 

“You’re okay with this, right?” she asks, suddenly unsure.

 

He senses her sudden insecurity and his hands close around her shoulders.

  
“I’m more than okay with it. It may not be easy but nothing worth it ever is. Gosh, I’m going to be a dad.”

 

“Yes, you are. She’s going to be our little peanut.”

 

“She?"

 

"She.”

 

He raises his eyebrows, blinks and nods. “Okay. Well come on, girls. We have a movie to watch.” He drapes his arm around her and leads her to the sofa, where she cuddles into his side and the sense of peace that fills her feels like the incoming tide, washing away the lines drawn in the sand, leaving behind a clear path into the unknown, one they will follow together.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I did the characters justice. Let me know?


End file.
